


fake it 'til you make it. (or out.)

by sugartina



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Fake Dating, but i hope you like at least some!!, pitchmas 2016, there's only one bed, this is so bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 00:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9045896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugartina/pseuds/sugartina
Summary: Chloe may have told her parents she has a girlfriend. Who better to stand in for the fictional partner than her good friend Beca? The problem is - when does fake dating stop being fake?





	

**Author's Note:**

> So. I'm bad at writing.
> 
> But I really wanted to do something for the pitch perfect fandom - and so I signed up for pitchmas 2016.
> 
> This will likely get an edit in future to sharpen it up, it just had to be up on the 25th!
> 
> Happy Holidays, guys. Hope you enjoy.

 

“I need you to date me.”

Beca looked up from the book she was reading, dropped it on her thighs. Grey eyes moved from an intricate diagram of headphones, up to Chloe’s lighter blue, fraught with worry. For a second, they enraptured her, Beca noticing a line of darker blue within the sky – before forcing herself to focus. “Uh. That’s going to need a _lot_ of context.”

“Funnier without context,” Amy called from her seat on a bean bag, engaged in an intense Smash Bros battle with Stacie, who used the opportunity to knock Amy’s character out of the arena.

Chloe furrowed her brows, nodded, standing back a little. “Cool, _Rad_ , Context. Okay.” Her eyes darted to her left, she stayed quiet a moment, unsure where, exactly, to start with said context.

Beca sat up, clasped Chloe’s hand. “Hey. You okay?” Beca knew it was a silly question – but didn’t know what else to say, how to comfort – and so instead ran the tip of her thumb across Chloe’s cold knuckle, circular, hoping to soothe.

“It’s Christmas soon.”

“I’m… Aware,” Beca said, wrinkling her nose.

“I’m going to my parents. And – I maybe told them I was bringing my… My girlfriend.”

“You don’t have a girlfriend. I’m pretty sure we would have noticed.”

“I’m aware,” Chloe shot back.

“Wait,” Cynthia Rose looked up from her phone, “You’re gay?”

“Bi,” Chloe answered, earning a nod and a sympathetic smile, “But that’s not really the issue.” She looked back at Beca, eyes pleading.

A million questions bounced around the inside of Beca’s head. She glanced out the window, at a bare tree outside, before finally slinking up, standing. She needed to get her head straight – and she was almost certain the same went for Chloe.

“Coffee?”

\--

Coffee A Go-Go was as quiet as it ever got. It still bustled – the café never stopped _bustling_ – but, before midday it was a relatively relaxed bustle, with no risk of impromptu acapella performance, nor surprise poetry jams.

Beca walked to a small table in the corner, penguin emblazoned cardboard cup clasped with both hands. Light indie music played through the speakers, calming her nerves, after a slightly awkward walk. They’d spoken very little as they’d walked down the grey, paved pathway, just brushing away leftover orange leaves, Bega clutching her coat close to her against the cold.

 

She sat in a plush seat opposite Chloe, the two mini sofas forming a small booth. A large window stood to Beca’s right side, a crooked fir tree swaying in the wind, and brushing branches against the glass every few seconds, creating a quiet ‘thunk’.

 

“Good coffee,” she finally murmured, resting the cup against the worn table.

 

“Yeah,” Chloe answered, distractedly.

 

Slight worry twisted in her stomach. Beca waited, not wanting to push Chloe, and listened to the hiss of the coffee machine, the clatter of mugs as they were washed, the murmur of conversation – and was rewarded, when Chloe finally spoke.

 

“I’ve always loved Christmas. I’m not religious – not really – but the songs, the decorations… All of it. Always kind of dreamed of spending Christmas with someone I loved.” She flushed, slightly, but pressed on. “Cheesy, sure, but true. And my parents know it. So, when we were organising me going home, they said if I wanted to bring someone special, they could – like they always do. And I was so caught up in the moment. You know I’m impulsive.”

 

“I do. Shower duet onwards,” Beca answered, surprised at how fond the memory was.

 

“Yeah – yeah! Like that. I wasn’t thinking properly,” Chloe winced a little at that admission, “Instead of doing what I usually do… I slipped up. I said I’d love to bring someone home with me.”

 

“I’m _guessing_ you don’t want to admit you lied.”

 

Tilting her head, Chloe furrowed her brows slightly, “It wasn’t really a lie. Not really. I got caught in the fantasy.”

 

“Sounds like a lie to me,” Beca said, before catching herself, “No, sorry. Not the right time. Bad habits,” she took a swig of her coffee, decided to get to the point, “Why me?”

 

“Process of elimination,” Chloe stood, walked over to the condiments stand. She grabbed a wad of paper napkins, returned – talking all the way. “They know Aubrey and I are just friends, they’ve even met her. And well…” She shrugged. “I’m not close enough to the others that I’d ask them. Love them, obv, but – somehow it’s different with you.” She shrugged, as unsure as Beca why.

 

“Plus, you’ve seen me naked.”

 

“That too,” Chloe said, winking across, and getting a laugh out of Beca. The tension that had been present before had suddenly gone, and she felt as light as if it had never been there.

 

“So.”

 

“So?”

 

“ _So_. What would dating you – for fake, I mean – involve?”

 

Chloe pulled out her phone, swiped the glass, until. “I totes made a list. It’s easy, promise. You’d just come to my parents’ house for Christmas. We’d go Christmas shopping together. You can pretend to be my _loving_ girlfriend. I’ll even take you on a friendship date, my treat. And buy you some nice records to thank you.”

 

“Will I have to be all ridiculously festive?”

 

“Nah,” Chloe promised, with a laugh, “Just mildly so.”

 

“And a few weeks later you give them the tragic news that we’ve split?” Beca moved the cardboard sheath of her coffee left and right, until it came away from the cup completely. Flicking it, Beca watched it spin slightly, before sliding down the cup and hitting the table.

 

“That’s the plan,” Chloe confirmed, with a nod. “They’ll feel bad for me, but move on, and feel too awkward asking for the details.”

 

“Huh.” Beca spun the sheath again, left, then right, thinking. A part of her was surprised at even considering it – pretending to date her friend? But then, she hardly had plans for Christmas already, especially after the awkwardness that was the year before. She’d be left at the Bella house alone, as even those who didn’t celebrate anything were taking advantage of the break. And, she realised, Beca wanted to support her friend.

_Now_ that’s _an odd feeling._

 

“I can’t promise I’ll be the best girlfriend ever. I’m… Bad, in general, with all that. But yeah, I’m willing to give it a shot.”

 

Beaming, Chloe stood up, and quickly perched next to Beca on the seat. Her arm hugged Beca around the waist, and she rested her head on Beca’s shoulder. “Thank you. Seriously. Thank you so, so much.”

 

Beca felt warm – but not quite uncomfortably so. She shuffled to the right to give Chloe more space, using her own arm to pull her along. Chloe’s hair tickled slightly against Beca’s neck, and she had to supress a giggle – Beca Mitchell didn’t giggle. Especially this close to a friend, in a coffee shop.

 

“We gotta make a solid plan, then. Where do you live?”

 

Chloe took a very long drink from Beca’s coffee, then set it down. She glanced out the window, a wren pecking at grain on the floor, spotted brown fur blurring into the dusty ground. Finally, her voice uncharacteristically quiet, she mumbled “Burlington, Vermont.”

 

“ _Fuck._ ” Beca breathed, a little shocked. “And I guess we’re not flying.”

  
“Not at this short notice. It’s a couple of day’s drive. There’s a nice hotel I usually stop at on the way, I can book us rooms there.”

 

“Okay. Sure, road trip. Just make sure we don’t run out of gas – even if a flying burrito hits you.”

 

Chloe’s eyes widened, and she grinned. “Beca. What do you call a burrito in Vermont?”

 

“I’m regretting this road trip already.”

 

“A brrr-ito!” Chloe proclaimed, rolling her eyes, looking down at Beca, waggling her eyebrows.

 

“Oh, my god!” Beca said, poking Chloe in the side. Her grin of amusement betrayed her lack of true irritation, and she leant back against the cushion – but, for some reason, kept her arm close around Chloe. “Puns are bad enough when they’re aca-related. This is somehow _worse._ Forget Russian lit, you’ve discovered a new scientific field of bad comedy.”

 

“You could say I was Russian when I made my choice of major.”

 

The walk back to the Bella house was filled with exasperated groans from Beca, and pleased laughs from Chloe. They barely remembered to finish their cups – and it was only the next day, when Beca sat in her last lecture of the year, that she started to think about how relaxed she had been; how odd that was for her.

-

“I don’t want to sound like broken record – I’m using that for your benefit, hipster kid, no-one else uses records anymore – but, you’re not trying to pull a joke on us? You’re actually dating Chloe for Christmas?”

 

“Fake dating,” Beca chided, less gently than she could have as she sliced through a cucumber, as quick as she could without risking finer injury.

 

Cynthia-Rose laughed. “As a lesbian, and a lesbian supporter… I’ve heard that before.”

 

“Chloe’s sweet, and attractive. Sure, I’ve not dated girls before – but I’ve not dated much, before, so that’s pretty moot. I’d happily date her, if she was interested.” Beca shrugged, not the first time she had done so when having this conversation. “I really don’t see the big deal.”

 

Leaning against the kitchen side, drinking from a glass of cranberry juice – at least, she claimed that’s all it was – Amy still seemed unconvinced. “And you’re going through with being all _Faking It_ up in Canada Jr. Not gonna end up with Santana Lopez style angst?”

 

“Have you even seen either of those shows?” Cynthia-Rose asked, from her place at the Beca table, scooping up a spoon of yogurt.

  
“Nah, but hey, gotta love Wikipedia.” Retorted Amy, before turning back to Beca. “Right, serious as I get. My flight home is tonight, so I can’t come bail you out if you get all emo. So, don’t do something you’re about to regret.”

 

The lettuce, cool to the touch, crisply separated as Beca pulled it apart, and she focused on that for a moment, before finally speaking. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” She sprinkled it into her bowl, then looked up at the pair. “Thank you though. Good to know you guys have my back when shit gets weird like this.”

 

-

 

An eerie quiet hung over the Bella house. The winter break had snuck up on the college fast, just as suddenly, everyone had locked their rooms, said their goodbyes – everyone, that was, except for Beca and Chloe. For Beca, it was her internship, the opportunity to run the station close to Christmas had been too good to resist. And naturally, Chloe couldn’t leave without Beca. And so, they were still there, the Saturday before Christmas.

 

Her wardrobe emptied, the contents carefully rolled into a dark red suitcase, Beca was dealing with the quiet in her usual way –  counteracting it entirely. Headphones were on, music was blasting. Even a jet engine would likely have trouble breaking through the forcefield of sound, and so when Chloe burst into the room, and began speaking, Beca had to stop her for a moment.

 

“Wait,” she half yelled, before remembering, whispering ‘Sorry!’ The headphones slid off, onto the duvet, and Beca nodded. “Continue.”

 

“Jamming to your tunes?” Chloe asked, almost entirely serious. Beca laughed, placed her laptop towards the end of the bed, shuffled over to make room. The truth was, they had been spending more time together anyway – more than their usual study sessions, or Bella practice.

 

At this point, so close to the trip, Beca had grown comfortable with physical contact in a way she never had anticipated. Sure, it was only with Chloe – she still flinched when a stranger brushed against her – but it was progress.

 

“I don’t know why, but other people’s beds are so, so much comfier than my own.”

 

“And I thought you just wanted my company,” Beca murmured. She was laid on her side, leaning back against the wall, her purple flannel shirt open, a concert tee underneath.

 

“That’s just a bonus.” Chloe wrinkled her nose, stared at the shelves. They bulged with records and CDs, and instead of bookends, they were held in place by various pieces of recording equipment. “I came here with a point,” she added, but relaxed into the pillow anyway, kicking her slippers away.

 

“I was right! You _don’t_ want my joyful, festive company.”

 

“Totes, you’re a beacon of the season. But – oh! Yeah. I wanted to tell you about my parents.” She nodded. “Just because if you were my girlfriend, you’d know all about them.” She pulled out a memory stick, from her pocket. “Am I cool to use your laptop? No viruses, promise.”

 

“Go for it.”

 

Chloe stayed sat where she was, instead leaning forward. Her already thin pyjama shirt rode upwards slightly as she plugged the memory stick in, and tapped away at the keyboard.

 

Beca found her eyes drawn to the bare skin, the ridge of Chloe’s spine, the curve of her hips. Suddenly, she felt her mouth become inexplicably dry. It was hardly as if she’d never seen Chloe’s body before. The shower incident had only been the start – Chloe was clearly confident, and that combined with the attitude that hey, Beca had seen it all, no reason to put too much effort into covering up if Beca walked in on her undressed.

 

The past few weeks, though, had been different. Beca had; and she had no clue why; become somewhat fascinated with the slight glimpses she got. They were brief – a few seconds, at most – and yet, they stuck in her mind, building up. She had been so absorbed in this – trying to figure out what, precisely, it meant – that she had failed entirely to notice Chloe going through the same thing every time she wore extra tight jeans, or a low-cut top.

 

“Got it,” Chloe finally said, a slideshow blooming up on the screen. She put it between them, but then grimaced, increased the brightness. “I know you’re trying to carry on scene culture, but you don’t need everything emo,” Chloe teased – and clicked F5, full screening the first slide.

 

“You nerd,” Beca said, a brow arching upward. “You actually made a PowerPoint, and it wasn’t for class?”

 

“Aubrey’s habits rubbed off on me. The useful, practical ones.”

 

“I really hope that means you won’t yell at me for skipping cardio this week.”

 

“No practice this week, you’re in the clear. Anyway! My parents.

 

Chloe clicked a key, the title card giving way to a couple. Beca estimated them at mid-forties, but they’d clearly aged well, so she wasn’t sure. Henry – the photo was helpfully captioned, pastel pink font on each side – was smiling, light brown eyes shining with humour. Short cropped blonde curls contrasted with reddish brown skin, and a thin arm was loosely wrapped around Katya’s shoulders, pulling her close. Katya herself shared copper hair with Chloe, though Katya’s was straighter, cropped into a short bob. She had a thin nose, a scar running from the bridge to her left cheek, but she seemed as happy as her husband, laughing at some unheard joke.

 

“So,” Chloe said, after a few moments of silence. “That’s my parents. They think they’re cool. Mom’s an entomologist, Dad’s a molecular physicist. Not kidding,” she described, sounding very well practiced.

 

She clicked on an arrow key, and the slide dissolved into a photo of Chloe and Katya, mid argument over a _Monopoly_ board. “We’re into board games. It gets **intense**. You should be prepared for that. It’s a tradition.”

 

“Your parents are actual scientists? And you’re an only child. Okay, I get how you can afford to stay in college this long,” Beca said. She shuffled, partially to get comfier, partially for a better view of the screen. Laying on her back, she found her arm pressed against Chloe’s side. Hesitantly, she slipped her arm under Chloe’s back, then moved ever closer. Their eyes met, then Chloe looked away. She almost seemed flustered – but by what, Beca hadn’t a clue. “Continue, by the way, ignore my snark.”

 

“Already am,” Chloe shot back, then, “We live in Vermont. I already said that. I hope you don’t like, die of cold. It’s why I’m so immune to the weather down here –balmy, really. Also, my parents are… A bit talkative. It’s where I get it from. If they overwhelm you, you’re free to take a moment. Seriously.”

 

“I’ll do my best. You know I hate everyone, it’s why I have an ‘I <3 Amy Lee’ tattoo.” The joke was silly, but Beca gave Chloe a grateful smile, nodding to show she understood Chloe’s accommodating her needs.

 

“Be serious, Beca,” Chloe said, with a slight frown. “I know I can be a little much, over long periods of time. I’ll do my best to not be grating.”

 

“Hey. Okay, serious Beca is here, as requested.” She looked across at Chloe, trying to resist the sudden urge to focus on her lips. “You don’t annoy me. Or grate, or – whatever. You never have. You’re my friend. Even if you have zero concept of boundaries – you’re none of that.” And as Beca said it, she realised how true the words had become – how accustomed she’d grown to Chloe’s presence. Feeling suddenly very warm, she looked away, murmured “The opposite, really.”

 

There was another pause, heavy with the weight of unexplored feelings. Instead of exploring said feelings, Beca prompted Chloe, “Anything else I need to know?”

 

“Huh.” The slides, really, were more a scrapbook than anything else. Chloe decided to leave them be, and faced Beca directly. “They’ll expect us to share a room. But I’ve got a camp bed in my closet there, you can bunk on that, if you’re uncomfortable sharing a bed with me.” She frowned slightly, in thought. “Huh. I should really get some pyjamas, don’t want to scandalise you by sleeping naked.”

 

Beca suddenly became very distracted.

 

“But I think that’s all of it covered. Bright and early tomorrow, right?”

 

Beca grimaced, the reminder of her grating alarm pushing pleasant thoughts away. “With coffee, unless we want to actually die of sleep deprivation.”

 

“With coffee,” Chloe promised, with a sympathetic smile, with eased Beca.

 

They laid there, for a while. The music – Beca realised she’d never paused it – played through the headphones, the ambient, flowing beats creating a cocoon around them. It was calm, soft, and somehow wonderfully, seductively terrifying. They were so close. Only centimetres apart physically. Beca’s eyes finally gave in, travelled down to Chloe’s lips.

 

For a fractal of time, she imagined brushing them with her own.

 

It was Chloe that slipped away first. She untangled herself from Beca, ejected the memory stick, slid back into her shoes. “Early morning tomorrow!” she proclaimed, with almost absurd levels of cheer in such a statement. “I’m going to grab some Z’s. Don’t want to fall asleep at the wheel, even with that promised coffee.”

 

“We don’t want that,” Beca agreed. “Sweet dreams. I’ll do the same, promise. Just gotta,” she gestured toward her eyes with a free hand “Wipe away the eyeliner.” She smiled at Chloe, watching her leave – then, as soon as the door clunked shut, fell back on her pillow.

 

As she took deep breaths, a sweet fragrance filled her nose. It was calming, relaxing – which made sense, Beca suddenly realised. It was Chloe’s perfume – her everyday scent, which Beca had begun to associate with hugs, long conversations planning their trip, even the beginnings of in jokes.

 

And with a beaming grin, eyes sparkling with amusement. With strong arms, around Beca’s waist. Glimpses of skin, which haunted her like a sunset.

 

Beca thought back on her friendship with Chloe, trying to make sense of the swirling kaleidoscope of emotion. It wasn’t as if all of this was new. They’d been there for each other, almost since they’d known each other. The Bella competitions, of course – long nights planning set-lists, stressing over choreography. But more than that, too – supporting each other no matter what.

 

But this was something new. Something clearly different. Not stronger, nor a replacement, than the emotion she already had for Chloe, but a strange additive.

 

As she fell asleep, Beca wondered whether this was all new. If the feelings she had for Chloe – whatever they were, and _that_ was a whole discussion in itself – were set off by what they were going to do.

 

Or – and Beca found herself a little frightened by this possibility – they could have been there for a long time, unnoticed, just waiting to be found in a too long touch, or a lingering glance.

-

 

 _Hate_ was a strong word. Short, brutish, lacking in nuance. Beca tried – more often, these days, as she made the effort to be kinder – to use it sparingly, only when it was justified.

 

Beca Mitchell hated traffic jams.

 

It had started well enough. They’d gotten into the car, out onto the freeway within the hour. For the first three, it had even been fun – they’d sung along to music, even played eye spy. Beca had even, to her horror, caught herself laughing at Chloe’s puns.

 

That was before they’d seen a sign warning of an accident ahead, then moved 20 metres in an hour.

 

Beca was flicking through radio stations, only finding snippets before moving onwards. The mornings sunny disposition had given way to being irritated by everything.

 

_Every time we touch, I get this feeling-_

Click.

 

_And then inside my heart, I felt a fire start-_

Click.

 

_And all that glitters is gold, only shooting stars-_

Click

 

_And it’s a great big world, she’s just another girl-_

Click, this time to the power button for the radio. Beca groaned. She was aware groaning wouldn’t fix the problem at hand. If there was any risk of that, it would have long since happened. But she still felt inclined to test that theory; and anyway, it almost made her feel better. Almost.

 

“Anything I can do to cheer you up?” Asked Chloe, the first words said by either of them for the best part of twenty minutes.

 

“Can you evaporate all this traffic?”

 

“Kinda beyond my skillset. Sorry.”

 

“Then no, can’t think of anything.”

 

Chloe took a swig from her pink water bottle, caught a droplet with her tongue, then swallowed. “It’s never usually this bad,” she finally responded, more than a little apologetic. “This is the first year since I joined Barden where I’ve been in one for this long.”

 

“Aren’t I lucky.”

 

“I’m sorry, is all,” Chloe finished, then left it at that.

 

After a few minutes – which, in the uncomfortable silence that hung around them, felt like hours unto themselves – Beca sighed, spoke. “No, fuck. No. You’re not the one who should be sorry. All this?” she gestured out towards the cars, trucks, and vans that stretched out into the horizon. “Not your fault.” She breathed, then went for it. “I should be the one who’s sorry. I snapped at you. Took out my frustration. And that’s really – it’s not fair on you.”

 

“Thank you for apologising.” Chloe reached out, placed her hand on Beca’s knee, squeezed it gently. “I understand why you’re annoyed, though. I’d rather be cruising along too.”

 

Beca rested her own hand upon Chloe’s, lacing their fingers together, keeping the other on the wheel, stark warnings from her driving lessons still hanging in mind as a green neon sign. “I’m just,” she began, “I’m shit when things like this happen. Things I can’t affect.”

 

Chloe squeezed again, looked across at Beca. The residue of annoyance was still there, for certain, but the main thing Chloe saw was a slight helplessness.

 

The thing was – Chloe cared. Deeply, and fully. And there were few she cared about as much as Beca. Her family, sure, and Aubrey. The Bellas came close.

 

Somehow, Chloe wasn’t surprised to discover that whilst she cared about some as much as she did Beca, no-one was above her. She decided to reach out, and quickly, before she could change her mind, did so.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“No.” Said Beca, with a dry laugh. “But,” she added, before Chloe could find a retort. “I really should. It’s just… I’m probably being an awful fake girlfriend, and real friend. But that’s another thing I’m awful at.”

 

“We can go slow as you like. We’ve clearly got plenty of time.”

 

As Chloe gestured towards the traffic, Beca saw her point.

 

“Alright.” She took a sip of her own drink, missing the coolness of freshly poured water, long since warmed. “You know I’m pretty self-reliant. Which is the nice way of saying, ‘Hey, I don’t have all that many friends.’ The Bellas are the first time I’ve had friends since… Early high school. At least, friends that lasted more than a month. And I feel like I can trust you guys. Even when stuff gets all fucked up.”

 

Beca moved the car forward a little, but stopped almost immediately after.

 

“But for years I didn’t have you guys. Even before my mom left, I didn’t get that much support at home. My dad did what he could, he never neglected me, but he’s always been dedicated to his work, and hey, I was a difficult kid. He expected… A mini version of him, I guess, ready to go get a solid degree in something which makes sense. Instead, he got an aspiring DJ, who wears to much eyeliner.

 

“So, I learnt to do it on my own, as much as I could, soon as I could. I spent time studying, mainly music, so I could learn how to do better. Made as many mixes as I could.

 

“Course it sucked when my only friends decided to pretend I didn’t exist, sophomore year. It was… About as fucking awful as you can imagine. But I pretended it didn’t get to me. Kept working, even harder – now I had nothing to keep me there.

 

Beca rolled her eyes a little, leant back in her seat. “Sorry, you didn’t need my life story. And I swear I’m not as completely tragic as I sound. But I guess, my point is… I’m pretty used to doing it on my own. So, when something messes with big plans, like this, I sometimes freak out a little.”

 

“That’s a lot to process.”

 

Beca laughed, even smiled a little. “Yeah, no shit.”

 

“Firstly, thank you for trusting me. You know nothing will go beyond this car if you don’t want it to, and, wow, I’m sorry for all the crap you went through.” Chloe checked that they weren’t about to move, then leant out of her seat, giving Beca a one-armed hug, before sitting down – safety first.

 

“Secondly, I hope you know you can trust me? And the Bellas, and even Aubrey, when she’s around. You don’t have to take the entire world on your shoulders. They’re lovely shoulders, believe me, but they’re sort of tiny. The world’s pretty big.”

 

“I know,” Beca said, far more grateful than she could communicate. “And I am trying. Being the co-captain of an acapella group is great for that. And this isn’t one-sided. You’re my friend. Best friend, really. Not my therapist. So, I’m here for you too.

 

“Thank you! I Know. I know, and I appreciate it.”

 

Beca smiled across, trying to show what her own words could not convey, then stared at the dashboard. “I think that’s enough sappiness for today.”

 

“Probably,” Chloe agreed, with a laugh. “Good news.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

Chloe nodded at the road. “Traffic’s moving again.”

 

-

 

Far too many hours later, the night hanging around them like a thick shroud, they had pulled up into the parking lot of the hotel. They’d swapped over at the halfway point, but both girls were tired. Their possessions gathered, car locked, they’d walked to reception to check in – which was where the next problem arrived.

 

“What do you mean, ‘Just one bed? There’s two of us.” Beca asked, the warmth of the foyer unable to dull her shock at the surprise. It was a beautiful hotel, Beca supposed. The carpets were posh, the pillars appropriately fancy. For the price, too, it was wonderful. There was just the small issue of a mishap.

 

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the young man at the desk protested, a little fearful. “There must have been a mix-up in the system. They’ve given you a single double bed, for the pair of you, rather than two single beds.” He typed away at his keyboard as he spoke, every word dripping with – what Beca hoped – was genuine apology. “We’d give you a substitute room, but… I’m afraid we’re fully booked tonight. Everyone’s doing the same commute home.”

 

“There’s not really any other hotels in the area, either,” Chloe added. She was more worried, than annoyed, but mainly just wanted to get some sleep.

 

“Fine. So long as I get some rest… Okay.” Beca picked up her suitcase by the handle, slipped her key card into her pocket. After so many hours driving, her hands were clammy, her shirt slightly sticky against her back. She felt thoroughly gross, and the promise of a warm shower overrode any worries of awkwardness.

 

Tinkly music played, as the lift carried them up a few stories, until the doors opened with a sharp _ding_. “Lead the way,” Beca gestured to Chloe, following her until they reached a tall door, their room number emblazoned in bronze.

 

The pair entered, and surveyed their home for the night.

 

Though not what they had ordered, the bed was splendid on its own merit. It was wide, long, dark birch headboard set against a white wall. The bathroom door was open, showing a transparent shower cubicle, to Beca’s relief.

 

“No sofa,” Beca finally observed.

“ _That_ was your plan! Okay. I did wonder why you so quickly relaxed.”

“Yeah,” Beca murmured, but more confidently, “Look. We’re adults. We’re pretending to date, anyway. I can deal with sharing a bed.”

Beca knew full well it wasn’t Chloe she was trying to convince, as evidenced by the butterflies who had migrated into her stomach the past half hour. Before she could ponder that further, she said, “I call first shower,” grabbed her washbag, and locked herself in the bathroom.

It was amazing, Beca considered, how easily hot water seemed to solve all of life’s problems. She knew that was folly, really. Problems still existed, hanging like baubles on the plastic tree of her life. But standing bare under the hot jet, rubbing strawberry scented soap into her skin, it still seemed lovely enough to have such a power.

Her main worry was overstepping boundaries. It was safe to say (and safer, on her own, in a shower cubicle), that she knew she had feelings for Chloe. The feelings that, if she had been less self-conscious, or fourteen, she would refer to as a ‘crush.’

Beca turned her back to the shower head, feeling suds run off her shoulder blades, sighed contentedly. She had to stop herself from falling into her habit of singing, which reminded her of the topic at hand.

It was hardly just a physical attraction. That was certainly a component of it, though. Beca pictured Chloe’s body, her long legs, during aerobics, her firm behind. Those strong arms. Beca’s palm glanced against her own thigh, and she felt a sharp pulling in her gut. Before she went further down that road – and inevitably used all the hot water – Beca pulled back, setting her hands to work with lathering up her hair.

It was emotional, too. She’d never opened emotionally to someone the way she had Chloe, that day. She’d rarely – very rarely – had someone on her mind so constantly. The littlest things would set Beca off thinking about her, wondering how Chloe would react. When something interesting would happen to Beca – the time the library erupted into a live performance of _As You Like It_ , perhaps – it wouldn’t just be a fun anecdote, saved for later – it would be lodged in Beca’s mind for her to tell Chloe at the earliest opportunity.

Beca wanted nothing more than to walk back into the bedroom, kiss Chloe on the lips, and inform her of all of this.

Beca knew full well that the last thing she could do was show any affection beyond their usual friendship. And even that was suspect, with Beca unsure of where that ended and inappropriateness began.

She had been asked to do this from a place of trust. Because Chloe needed someone there for her. What Chloe didn’t need was Beca taking advantage of that trust, to pursue a silly emotion.

No, Beca would keep quiet. And this would pass.

_I hope._

With no small amount of regret, Beca switched off the water jets, stepped out onto the tiles, and wrapped herself in a towel. Clothes over her arm, she stepped out, rolling her eyes to find Chloe already nude.

“Sorry, did I take too long?” She stared at the floor, dropping her own clothes next to her bag, one hand very firmly securing her towel around her shoulders.

“Nope! Just wanted to save time. How is it in there?”

Beca used her spare hand to find pyjamas, nodding. “Pretty great. High pressure. Better than the campus ones, definitely.”

 “Don’t diss the campus ones. Without them, you wouldn’t have joined the Bellas.”

“Go have your shower,” Beca instructed, only looking back up when she heard the click of the lock. She hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt, and changed as quick as she could, slipping under the duvet. She’d tidy in the morning, she decided.

The whirring of the heater was rhythmic, almost, and it quickly relaxed Beca. She stared off into the distance, slipping in and out of sleep, until Chloe returned. Beca didn’t look up, but smiled when Chloe, now clad in boxer shorts and an oversized tee, joined her, laying face to face.

“Hey,” Beca murmured, shifting close. It was funny, here, her fears seemed smaller. She could see the detail in Chloe’s eyes, the thin scar trailed across her forehead.

“Hey yourself,” Chloe returned, lips curling into a soft smile.

They listened to each other breathing for a moment, before Beca spoke again. “You seem quiet. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Definitely. It’s just… No, I’m good.”

Beca reached out, took Chloe’s hand, almost by instinct. “Spill, you’ll feel better.”

“Silly fears. And I know it’s silly, is the worst part.” Chloe’s voice was sleepy, and Beca found herself enchanted at this new side of her, but listened all the same. “A part of me wondered why it was so bad to share a bed with me. And I know that’s not what you meant, but you seemed so annoyed, and my brain just… Goes wild. Not often. Just sometimes.”

“I wasn’t annoyed at you.” Beca shook her head, best she could in the bed. “Just the stupid hotel system, for messing up.” She breathed again, brushed a lock of hair out of Chloe’s eyes, rested her hand on her cheek. “And, I’m worried about being around too much. I mean, fuck, we’re going to have to be on each other constantly if we’re going to convince your parents. I figured you’d want some time away from me, so I didn’t annoy you.”

It was Chloe’s turn to shake her head. “You could be with me forever, and it wouldn’t annoy me. I mean it.” Her eyes were serious, searching. Beca met them with her own, nodded.

“I feel the same.”

There was a moment of almost, of words unspoken about to be. A flicker of hope flashed through Beca’s eyes, and she almost grasped it – before brushing it away.

“I’m going to get some sleep, yeah?” she said, then rolled over, putting a tiny bit of space between her and Chloe.

It was a long time before either of them truly fell asleep.

-

The first day of driving – traffic aside – had been almost a classic road trip. Though tiring, the time had gone reasonably fast.

The second day was instead a mission. They hadn’t spoken much that morning, but instead of focusing on the cloying awkwardness, had got onto the road with grim determination to get there as fast as possible, within safe guidelines.

-

“Probably going to rain later,” Chloe observed, looking across at the grey clouds.

“I hope not,” Beca said, as she overtook someone’s grandma.

-

“You were so right,” Beca congratulated, with a shrug to admit defeat. She flicked the windscreen wipers on, glanced to see heavy droplets being sloshed away.

“If you wanted to, you could say I’m the raining champion of weather prediction.”

“But would I really want to say that? Probably not.”

-

And then, all of a sudden, they were there. Chloe, having taken over three hours prior, pulled into her driveway, looked up with a fond smile at her house. “Home sweet home,” she said, with as much excitement as she could muster.

Beca whistled, hooking her bag over her shoulder. “Nice place,” she commented, and meant it. The front of the house was tall, a pair of wooden doors inset between two small wooden pillars. Vines grew up and to the left, around a bedroom window, and a row of bushes – currently bare of leaves – bordered the driveway.

A thin layer of powdery snow covered it all, and as Beca began to unload her bags, cold flakes brushed against her skin. She pouted against it, and a flake landed directly on her lips. She caught Chloe chuckling at the sight, and childishly stuck her tongue out.

“You’re sweet,” Chloe murmured. She grabbed her own bags, then used the pad of her thumb to brush away a particularly large spot of snow from Beca’s eyebrow. Her hand lingered, and despite the cold, Beca felt herself grow flushed.

“Time to meet my parents,” Chloe grinned, stepping away, leaving Beca almost gaping, before she took control of herself once more.

“Gonna admit, I’m nervous.” Beca said, as they stood on the doorstep.

“Don’t be. They’ll love you!” Chloe tried to assure, then rang the shrill bell.

It was only a few seconds before the doors were opened, and Henry and Katya stood there, beaming – but only for a moment, as they fast pulled their daughter into a hug. Beca felt slightly overwhelmed, and stood back. She wasn’t sure where to go, how to introduce herself, and so settled for stepping over the threshold and holding bags in the corner until she was called upon.

As it turned out, the wait wasn’t too long at all. After a minute of exchanging details of the journey, and the trio expressing their delight to see one another again, Henry broke the hug, smiling across.

“And this must be the famous Beca,” he greeted, with a friendly wave. “I know it’s a cliché – but we really have heard so much about you, even before our darling daughter told us you’d started dating.”

 **That** was news to Beca, and she glanced at Chloe, before grinning at Henry. “And it didn’t put you off?” she quipped, earning a chuckle from both Henry and Katya, a relaxed sigh from Chloe.

“Not at all,” Katya broke in. She had a very faint Moscow accent, mixed with the effect of over two decades in Vermont, and was still hugging Chloe close. “The hero of acapella? The alt girl who helped preps? You’re almost legendary.”

To Chloe’s credit, she had flushed almost bright red, and Beca grinned. “Where should I put my stuff? Then you can tell me all about the stories Chloe’s told.”

Chloe shot Beca a half serious glare at that, her parents chuckling away, and Beca gave Chloe her friendliest grin, sliding in close when she had a choice, and whispering “I think they like me.”

-

There was a reason Beca usually did her shopping weeks before. That reason was currently flowing through the small shopping centre, bulging with people.

Alas, she hadn’t had time to get presents before, and so, brave the crowds it was.

They’d shared a bed again that night. After dinner, they’d both been so tired, that they’d barely had time to wash and unpack, before falling into the bed, all thoughts of the camp bed forgotten. To her credit, Chloe had worn pyjamas, as much as Chloe would have liked to have seen the alternative.

“Is it inappropriate to buy your mom a copy of _A Bug’s Life_?” Beca asked, holding said Blu-Ray in one hand, standing aside to let a group of teenagers go past – seriously, they weren’t even buying anything, there were other days to hit the mall.

“No way! That’d be hilarious,” Chloe confirmed, with a grin.

Beca nodded, “Great, I’ll get that then. Got the candles for your dad.” Beca thought, then, “What do you want, anyway?”

Chloe contemplated this, as she stood to the side of the queue, waiting for Beca to finish. “Surprise me,” she said, with an impish grin.

Beca smiled back. “I think that could be clarified a bit.”

“Let’s just say anything you give me, I’d love.”

“Okay, okay,” Beca said, finally breaking the spell. “I’ll surprise you.” She wanted to carry on – of course she did. But she still feared of leaving the joke behind, and so focused on giving money to the tired attendant, giving her a grateful smile.

-

It wasn’t the cold that surprised Beca. She’d known ice rinks were cold, and hadn’t expected this to be any different. Nor was it the very large posters of 00s teenagers trying to make skating seem cool. They more amused her than anything else.

It was how quiet it was. From what Beca had seen of rinks, they were either filled with hockey players, or skaters trying not to fall into one another.

Beca couldn’t exactly judge that one, though.

“You know I haven’t skated before,” she murmured, arms firmly clamped to the side.”

“It’s easy. Just like dancing.”

“It took you and Aubrey months to teach us the choreography to eternal flame.”

“Bad example.” Chloe slid close, held out her hand. “You can trust me,” she promised, and somehow Beca did.

Her instincts still told her to stay at the wall. But she let Chloe pull her out, until they were in a larger area, away from the sides of safety.

“Flow with me,” Chloe instructed, “Let yourself glide.” She rested her left hand on Beca’s back, just above her rear, and her right clasped with Beca’s hand. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be?”

Chloe took that as permission – and sure enough, off they went.

At first, they stumbled at almost every turn. But over time, Beca began to match Chloe’s movements, and then to the time of the tinny music. Their feet glided together, curved through the ice, until they were spinning around, not quite graceful, but very much then.

Beca slowed for a moment, letting go, watching Chloe move. Beca was reminded, once more, of how beautiful she found Chloe, and slid closer, taking her hands again.

“Hey,” Chloe murmured, slowing down, guiding them towards the safety of the wall again.

“Hey yourself,” Beca returned, softly.

Their breath hung in the air, and Beca shivered slightly. Chloe smiled, pulled her own scarf off. “Told you to wrap up warm,” she said, tying it around Beca’s neck.

“I should have listened,” Beca agreed, using the momentum to slide slightly closer.

“Uh-huh.” Chloe leaned in ever closer, and Beca felt her stomach twirl again. This time, though, she didn’t pull away, met the movement instead.

Their lips brushed, parted, came together again. Beca reached up, cupped Chloe’s neck for support, and kissed again. It was a revelation – surprising, fresh, and somehow so familiar.

“When did it stop being fake for you?” Chloe asked, tracing invisible patterns on Beca’s cheek.

“PowerPoint,” Beca admitted, still scarcely believing it. Any of it, before or since. “But I think, really, it was there a long while before that. You?”

“Coffee,” Chloe answered, with a flush, then another kiss, to Beca’s forehead. “And same, really. We just opened ourselves up to it.”

“I guess we doomed ourselves to this when we decided to fake date.”

“Perhaps,” Chloe said, with a grin, “But I think we should kiss more to find out.

-

 

The house was strewn with paper. Leftovers filled the fridge, crackers had been pulled, confetti and tree needles would be found for months after.

And Beca was leaving.

This wasn’t a surprise. They’d agreed from the start that after Christmas, Beca would head back to Barden on her own, see her dad, go back to the studio.

But if they were honest, neither Beca nor Chloe had expected it to be like this.

“Your taxi will be here soon,” Chloe mumbled, against the skin of Beca’s neck.

“It sure will,” Beca managed, her hand firmly cupping Chloe’s ass. She slowly – slowly – pulled away her neck from Chloe’s attention, but gave her another kiss on the lips. “Fuck, Beale, I’m going to miss you.”

“It’s only a week.”

“After a week of hanging out? Culture shock.”

“True. I’m going to miss you too.”

Beca fiddled with the strap of her backpack. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Share with me?”

“We should try dating. Except – here’s the twist… It’s not fake.”

Chloe leant forward. “Does that mean I can kiss you more?”

“So long as I’m not in lessons… Any time you want.”

“Beca, I think that’s the Christmas surprise I was looking for.”

When they kissed again, it was filled with passion, as were they. And when Beca finally left, it was with the knowledge that many more kisses lay in their future.

But with Chloe, it was never just the kisses. As Beca sat in the taxi, staring at an orange sunrise – if she focused, it looked the same shade as Chloe’s hair – the promise of seeing what dating Chloe for real was like was better than any gift she’d ever received.

 

 


End file.
